The Memory of Darkness
by valsinkya
Summary: A calamity strikes the Grey family, threatening to break them apart. Can love and time truly heal someone?
1. Prologue

**Warning:** This is a kind of story that won't please most people. It will have a distinct format – some chapters will be record-tapes playing, others diaries pages, others just regular narratives. It is **not** a comfy story. It will not make you feel fuzzy and great – that's not the point. The point is to explore dark and painful topics, and show how one can overcome adversities, no matter how cruel their experiences are. It's a story about strength and union and family and young love. It's raw and unapologetic.

It is intent for mature audiences.

* * *

**Prologue**

A hand placed a record-player on the cold, steeled table. Long fingers stretched lazily before pressing play.

_*Tapes rewinding*_

First voice: (muffled sounds)_ I… I don't know what to do. I always enjoyed control. When I was younger I craved it, you know it. When I met Ana, things changed a bit, but I still like to feel domineering, powerful – in every aspect. And now… I just… _(sighs)_ I'm so useless. I feel useless. I feel powerless. It's so awful. I can't deal with it. I keep thinking maybe if I had done things differently this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I was around, instead of across the globe, I would have been able to prevent it. It's my fault. I've… I've failed as a father, John. I couldn't do the simple task of protecting my family. How? How is it possible? Why? Why did it happen… My girl… My baby girl… She's… What do I do, John? Please tell me. I have to do something, I have to make it better… _(long sighs and muffled sounds)_ I just don't know how. She's hurting so badly and I don't know how to take the pain away. Fucking world! _(growls) _Fucking, disgusting, empty world! It's my fault isn't? I should have prevented it… I should have done something, anything… Maybe there really is a God and this is His way of saying I shouldn't have kids. I should have known it. I'm too fucked up. My life was too fucked up. I was an awful person. And now I'm paying for it. I just couldn't imagine the price would be so high. And to my little girl… John, I'm desperate. Please, help me! What do I do? What can I fucking do? _(loud thump, cries)

Second voice:_ Christian, I'll tell you this as your friend and not your psychiatrist: It is not your fault. None of it is. It was an awful, grotesque crime that happened, but no one could have done anything to prevent it. We can't control everything. You know it. You learned it throughout the years – don't lapse out on that now. It is not your fault. Neither is Ana's or Teddy's or Phoebe's. You can't blame yourself. These events aren't planned out and can't be deterred, no matter how much we wish for it, it's out of our hands. You're not a bad father, Christian, and you have to know and understand you can't protect and obstruct your kids from the real world forever. They live in it, they are part of it. Eventually they will have to experience it. It shouldn't be this cruelly. Nobody deserves this, especially not a young girl, but calamities don't choose targets. They happen to anyone in the most unexpected times. You have to stop this self-loathing road – it is not helpful to your daughter, and right now, that's all you should have in mind: her well-being. You need to be strong and patient. Phoebe needs her father, the man she grew up with, the man she knows and loves, not this self-abhorrent shell of a person you used to be. If, indeed, there is a God, then it's not a fair one – period. Saying you shouldn't have kids is absurd Christian, you are a great man. But now you need to be strong. I don't know what else you, or anyone, can do. Situations like this are just too personal. Everyone deals with them differently. _(silence)_ I would like to speak to Phoebe again, if that's possible. We could arrange another session for next week. _(sighs)_ Just… Be strong… You just have to be strong Christian… You'll pull it through…_

First voice: _I wish I could do justice with my own hands._

_*End of taping*_

A dark suited man reclined on his stainless chair. He rubbed his hands over his stomach, taking his time, letting the recorded words sank in. The room was filled with an eerie silence – not even their breaths made a sound. It was almost unnatural. Almost frightening.

"So, Mr. Grey, did you do it?" The man finally asked after a moment too long. "Did you take the matter into your own hands?"

The accused leaned back in his seat as well. His own hands sprawled confidently on the tabletop. He didn't blink once. The second detective came around from behind Christian, circling his body with a predatory stance, stopping next to him and resting his hip on table. He leaned in, hoping to come across as intimidating.

"Did you kill your daughter's rapist, Mr. Grey?" The second one asked hoarsely.

Christian's back straightened up. He stared at both detectives hard, not once drifting his eyes from theirs. His gaze was bold, assuring and unapologetic. He wasn't nervous in the slightest.

"No." Christian Grey finally answered. "But I wish I had."


	2. Chapter 1

_*An entry in Phoebe's diary*_

Dear… _diary_?

I'm not even sure how to start this. I gave up writing after _that_ fatidic incident. I remember so well, all those times I came home from school, too excited about the prospect of spilling my news over these same pages. This was my confident, my best friend. I was kid then, naïve and young. Now my innocence has been long robbed, and along with it so has everything that made me cheerful. I couldn't even trust the faithful pages of my journal anymore. How tragic is that, for a young girl?

I'm better now. At least today I am. And I feel I can trust it again. Because if I can't share my story with my own self, then how will I live with others? I don't want to continue like this… like, an empty shell.

I'm sure my experiences aren't worthy of a novel. Yet, they are mine to tell. I have scars and pain, all buried deep inside me. I need to breathe again. I just _need_ to get this over with.

It was the day after my birthday. I was fourteen – officially an adolescent. I felt so good with myself – being fourteen meant I was on my way to become a woman. It also meant I could give it a shot with Cody: the school's sweetheart. Every girl had a crush on him and I, shamefully, was on the same boat. His golden curls and clear-as-the-sky eyes made me swoon every time I glanced at him. He was perfect. In my mind we would have made the cutest couple, and then have the prettiest babies. Cody was a couple of years older than me, but I believed my age wouldn't be of matter, now that I was so grown up.

I even thought about seating by his side during lunch the next day. I had a whole plan lined up in my mind on how to conquer Cody Samuels. At the time, that was the most important thing – the only care I had in the world.

At three p.m., after all classes were done and over with, my phone ringed. I was already at the school's entrance waiting for my mom to pick me up. The caller was her, and she told she couldn't do it. An unexpected problem, a sudden meeting or something along those lines, made her unable to come and take me home.

In the moment I couldn't care, a sense of excitement washed over me. I was going home _alone_. Dad wasn't around to do it either – and I was happy about it. I was so static that I would leave by myself for the first time. It fueled the notion that I was a woman, that I was mature, that I was independent. Cody would surely be impressed by it.

I ran along and told all my girlfriends about the joyful news – rightfully so, they all shared an envious posture and an awed stare. It made me feel even more confident.

I didn't lose another second. I trailed along towards the path I knew so well. I wanted to come home and write here, in my own diary, how proud I was in myself. The day was bright and clear. The wind was a bit crispier than in the previous days, but it was already late September and the upcoming autumn could be felt in the chilly air. I was too happy to care, either way. It was good to feel the cold breeze hit my flushed cheeks, play with my unruly strands of hair. I was so lost in my own bubble of excitement, I didn't notice my surroundings.

It was only another couple of blocks to my place, when I noticed something was off. I never knew why I got that presentiment. I didn't felt his presence until he pressed that sharp object at the nape of my neck, but somehow before he even got close enough to do it, I just _knew_ something wasn't right. I told myself I was being silly, that my childish fears were preventing me from being the girl Cody would desire.

I was on broad daylight, in the middle of a busy street, after all. I would never imagine crimes like this would unfold right under everyone's noses. Oh… delightful naivety.

It was when I was passing through a narrow alley that my dreadful premonitions came to life. The man, the one that completely spoiled all remains of joy from my life, got behind me. His pointy weapon grazed my skin. His hand was stiff, confident, and his body was so close I could feel its unwelcome warmth.

"Try anything and I'll stab you." He spoke in the most relaxed of ways. His voice was low but very clear. It had the same effect of a punch in the guts.

To anyone passing by he was probably just another regular guy walking his daughter – or sister, or niece, or friend, or acquaintance – home. His other hand darted to my elbow as he subtly, but quite demandingly, pushed me towards the dead-end alley.

I was paralyzed in shock – in gelid fear. Recalling the events now perhaps I could have done something different. Perhaps I could have tried to slap his greasy hand away and run for the dearest life of me. Perhaps I could have tried that and get stabbed. But would that outcome be that much more horrible than the hell I got trapped within?

Regardless, at the moment, my fourteen-year-old brain couldn't come up with a safety plan. I wasn't exactly street wise. It was, after all, my _first_ walk home – alone. And the feel of his cold, metallic and threateningly sharp object pushed against my neck, had my body trembling with fear.

I didn't want to die.

I wanted to date Cody. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to be successful. I wanted to have a happy marriage like my parents. I wanted to have children. I wanted to live.

I _couldn't_ die.

I was innocent enough to believe whatever was going to happen to me, wouldn't be worst than death itself. But as I would, regrettably, learn it felt worse.

We walked farther into the alley, until a big, completely filled trashcan gave us enough protection from prying eyes passing rapidly through the busy street. Not that it mattered anyway. People were too absorbed in their own minds to notice a young girl being dragged by an older man onto an empty lane.

He pushed me hard against the wall and crushed my back with his arm. His armed hand never wavered from my neck and instead he pressed the blame harsher against my skin – just to prove his point. I was terrified. And whimpering. And shaking. And crying.

"P-Please…" I begged croakily. My voice wasn't familiar even to my own ears. "Please sir, just let me go… I-I won't tell anybody… Just…"

"Shut up." He growled and the tone of his voice made me flinch. It was implicit that I'd pay and suffer harder if I dared to disobey that command.

My school's uniform made his task easier. Reaching under the hem of my skirt, he roughly squeezed my thighs and pinched my butt, before his fingers touched the fabric of my cotton panties. My cries were almost inaudible. All strength suddenly seemed to evade me. Why? Why was this happening to me? I implored God to help me; implored Him to stop this man; implored Him to save me. But not a single response came.

I was doomed. And I felt like it was my fault because I wasn't fighting him back. My limbs shut down and I couldn't move. I was so afraid. I didn't know what to do. And yet I _should_ have done something. Maybe I deserved that fate for being so weak.

My front was pressed against the cold and dirty wall. I was pinned by his obviously stronger body. His crotch was rubbing uncomfortably against my behind, and I felt my own mind coil in shame and disgust. His free hand never stopped his roaming.

I wanted it to end.

After a while I heard something that resembled a zipper being opened. I whimpered in fear but only received a hard slap on my inner-thigh as a warning. I shut up. But the tears never stopped flowing. I couldn't even see anymore.

It didn't take long for two sweaty digits to push my panties aside. I felt chilly wind grazing my most intimate parts. It was something so strange, so unwelcomed, so embarrassing, I was half-expecting my body to stop breathing in shock.

Unfortunately, it didn't. Though hollow and heavy, my lungs were still working.

Suddenly I felt flesh – something sticky, something hard – probing down _there_. If one could die of mortification that, surely, would have been my ending. I wasn't so naïve, I hadn't heard of sex before. Theoretically I knew how it worked, but never once had I felt inclined to try anything related to that.

In that moment, though, my desires weren't being taken in consideration. I was being forced into participating in an activity I had previously deemed romantic. That experience was far from romantic. My virginity was being robbed by someone whose face I hadn't even seen yet.

And there I stood. Meek. Afraid. Helpless. Paralyzed.

I didn't count on being penetrated with such force. It was such an expected and brusque movement, a strangled weep of help escaped my sore throat. The weapon was pushed harder against my skin, drawing blood.

"Shut up, you little whore." My assaulter hollered, only this time his voice quavered a bit.

The pain was too much to handle. I wanted to curl up on the ground and cry my eyeballs out. I wanted to scratch my arms so hard, blood would sprout from my pores. I wanted to rip my skin, my hair, my nails – anything. Anything that would prevent me from feeling _him_ inside me.

He wasn't gentle, and I guess I shouldn't have expected that, but his uncoordinated, violent thrusts felt like blades slicing my inner-walls. I was surely being ripped apart. I ached. I burned. Every single part of my body was throbbing with pain.

Why? Why? Why me? I kept asking but if I wanted an answer, I had none – not even today.

It didn't take long for him to finish the deed, but I felt like my life spawn had been drained in those few minutes. With one final and raw thrust, his hateful manhood swelled and exploded at the same time, still inside me. I was shivering so badly, it was bordering on convulsion.

"Ah," He growled in an appreciative manner. I wanted to pierce my eardrums, wanted to erase from my memory all those grotesque sounds I heard him make.

My shoulders slumped immediately after he exited me. I heard the same sound of a zipper being pulled and knew that, finally, it was over. Only I didn't feel any better. In fact, I could I've sworn I felt even more disgusted with myself.

The man's hands grabbed my waist and he spun me around. The weapon was no longer threatening me but I guess it wasn't necessary anymore. For the first time since I had been approached by him, I saw his face.

He wasn't the rapist I was expecting – if one can even expect something like that. He was just a regular guy, with medium height and a bulky figure. His brooding face told me he was probably on his mid-forties. His hair was dark and his eyes an unfathomable shade of brown. Seeing him – his face – was even worse than being in ignorance.

There was a contempt, self-assured smile on his thin lips and I wasn't able to take it anymore. I turned my head sideways hoping he would just disappear. Instead though, his greasy hand touched my tear-stained cheek and he caressed my skin so gently I would have thrown up if not for the millions of knots twisted in my stomach.

"Pretty girls like yourself shouldn't prance around all alone." With that final piece of ironical advice, he turned on his heels and walked away, onto the busy, clueless street.

I was left there, breathless. I couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't _feel._

I was powerless.

I was weak.

I was feeble.

I was disgusting.

The air didn't seem to be able to make its correct path towards my lungs. I was so empty. What had just happened? Had I really been rapped? One trembled glance at my legs was all it took to get the confirmation. Blood and a translucent, sticky moisture were encrusted in my thighs.

I was dirty.

I _was_ a whore. The man was obviously right. I just wanted to be swallowed whole by the ground.

His face, his voice, his groans were imprinted involuntarily on my mind. They were haunting me then. And they have haunted me since.

I don't know I long I stood there, cowered in that smelly corner, but after making sure my legs could move again: I ran. I ran all the way home not once caring if I was pushing people out of my way. I just wanted my mother and her warm hugs. I just wanted to be safe.

Except I wasn't. I would never be safe again.

That man – _my_ rapist – ruined everything. He ruined me.

* * *

**A/N:** Phoebe was seventeen when she wrote this entry. She is now twenty.


	3. Chapter 2

_*Present day* _

Phoebe clutched the stack of books closer to her chest. It was the first day of her second semester, but it felt as if it was the first of her academic year. Every time it was the same. She would feel nervous, uncomfortable, clearly out of her depths. And every time she would wonder why in the world was she inducing this kind of stress into her own life. Maybe she had a masochist bone within her body. Maybe she truly deserved to be miserable. But, mainly, Phoebe kept coming back because she loved mathematics – the numbers were abstract but oddly concrete, hypothetical but explicit. It was what she understood the most, what reassured her that some things were simple and rational – _explainable_.

And Phoebe Grey needed all the explainable and logical theories she could gathered around her.

Tucking her long, unruly hair behind her ears, she sighed and walked towards the building where her first lecture would be held. Moving bodies gathered around her. Noise filled the air. The familiar strings of anxiety stuck at her chest but she shoved them down as hard as she could. She _had_ to get used to being surrounded by unfamiliar people. And gradually she was becoming more comfortable with strolling around the campus and passing within close reach of fellow classmates.

In the auditorium, she picked a seat as farther from the front as possible. Phoebe had learned the hard way that panic attacks could happen at any time in any place – the simplest thing could trigger them. And being right in the front would mean she would have to pass by everyone present in class while running away to the nearest bathroom, in case that happened. That scenario wasn't something she was comfortable with.

With a deep breath, she opened up her books and patiently waited for her day to start.

* * *

Classes were finally over. It had only been a day, yet it felt like an entire month. Being lonely could do that to a person. She was used to it by now, but it still bothered Phoebe that she wasn't strong or confident enough to befriend anyone.

She was sick of always being alone, but it was also too hard to trust others – others she didn't knew so well.

She was walking home from the university and was just a few blocks away from reaching Escala, when she caught sight of a small coffee-shop that simply drawn her attention like a moth to a flame. It seemed cozy, secluded, peaceful. Phoebe couldn't help but stop and admire it, wondering what it would be like to do something as regular as frequent a café without a worry in her mind.

_Today is the day!_ She told herself. _It's time to be a regular twenty-year-old woman._

And with those thoughts in mind, and before she could lose the courage, Phoebe entered the appealing coffeehouse. It wasn't too packed and she couldn't be more thankful. It was the first time she was entering and seating in a café all by herself – usually she had her mother, or her father, or Teddy, or even Sawyer trailing along with her. It seemed as if her family was even more afraid of the world than Phoebe herself.

But she was done with it. Today she would seat comfortably on this small shop, drink a delicious latte, and, like every other university attendant, study.

Somebody came by her table to retrieve her order but she was too engrossed in her own musings that she failed to notice the person. Quickly, though, she got engrossed, as well, in the universe she knew and adored: the numbers.

And just like that, time passed in a blink of an eye. Phoebe didn't even notice the coffee-shop was closing until a young barista approached her table and coughed loudly, immediately interrupting her train of thought. Her overly-large, wary eyes snapped up and she was greeted with two very dark, very glistening green orbits.

"Hey girl," He said calmly with an ease of someone obviously assured of himself. His voice struck Phoebe's hard. It was indescribable. She never knew a voice could be so hypnotic. His baritone was low and husky, deep and hoarse. It demanded attention, respect. "We're closing."

The barista didn't smile – not even politely. His face didn't show any emotion at all. His features were like a blank canvas: expressionless. It awed Phoebe that she had never encountered someone so closed off. Not even her father was _that_ stoic. She didn't know how long it took for her body to respond but only when the man raised an eyebrow did she realize she was gapping at him like an idiot.

With a nervous blink of her eyes, she shook her head, her wild hair falling in front of her face. She nodded mechanically not daring to meet his eyes again. That gesture seemed to suffice, because he turned away, picked up a mop and started cleaning the floor as if she wasn't _still_ there.

Her hands were trembling slightly and for the love of God, she couldn't fathom why. The barista had only spoken to her in the courtliest way – exactly the same as if he had picked some random client's order during his shift. Yet, the image of his face was imprinted in her mind even now, when she wasn't looking.

Would it be his bottomless dark eyes that drawn her attention? Or, maybe, his unnervingly pale skin? Or, perhaps, his strikingly blonde hair? Or, even, the almost faded scar he had engraved on his face from his ear to his chin? Whatever the reason, Phoebe knew the hollowness of her breath had little to do with fear and all to do with intrigue.

This man, whom just happened to be a complete and utter stranger, peaked her curiosity. And that was a rare event in the life of the meek, fearful Phoebe Grey. Usually the emotions others sprout on her skimmed around the edges of dread and mistrust – _never_ interest. It was such a foreigner concept that she hastily picked up her books and clumsily wobbled her way towards the exit, unable to draw a proper breath until her body felt the chilly wind gracing her skin.

It was a cold evening and it was gloomily dark already. That acknowledgment made her heart pump madly in her chest. Nights always made her feel even more powerless. Probably it was just the absence of light – of clarity – that brought such fear to her mind, but she couldn't help imagine how much more vulnerable she was surrounded by unforgiving shadows.

_Everything that exists in the night, I've already seen it during daytime. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm a big girl. _

Those were the mantras Phoebe kept replaying in her head like a broken record. And it was her stubborn insistency of living a regular life – a life outside the secluded walls of her parents' manor and her psychiatrist's office – that landed her here. In Seattle. Alone. Leaving a small and cozy coffee-shop at night.

Her father was sorely against it. Her own mother wasn't very confident in her daughter's survival skills. But thanks to the interference of Flynn and Teddy's unconditional support, she managed to persuade her family to let her grow. Let her face the world. Let her face her fears.

Phoebe wanted so such to prove she could make it – that she could restore some kind of normality onto her quotidian. That she wouldn't dwell on her infortunes anymore. She wanted both her parents to stop worrying so madly over her well-being, their obsession nearly destroyed the family some years back, but most of all she wanted to assure _herself_ that she could be a regular young-woman, in the early stages of a prosperous life.

It wasn't proving to be an easy task, though. Moving to Escala alone and attending a university was harder than she had originally planned, but Phoebe Grey, despite wary and coward, was also unhealthy obstinate. And she was hell-bent in fighting the odds, in keep going, in _not_ giving up – no matter how cold the shivers that crept her spine were.

That's why, though skittish and obviously leery of everything that could hide in the shadows of the night, Phoebe took a deep breath and scolded her own weakness. _Stop this! You can't fear the world forever._ With those final chastisements, she began her walk home. Escala, her parents' previous house, was too near to require her to drive a car. It was all good. She had slowly restored her confidence in walking alone in the streets along the years.

And so, she kept going, quietly reassuring herself that Sawyer was somewhere out there, probably in his inconspicuous SUV, tracking her every step per request of Christian Grey, and despite her insistency on not wanting any bodyguards babysitting her. Her father could be just as stubborn as Phoebe herself. She guessed the saying, _like father like son_, really held some truth – only in this case it applied to the daughter.

She was doing surprisingly well, and was only a few blocks away from the familiar and empowering building, when the sound of footsteps arose every single hair in her body. Time seemed to still instantaneously and the air dropped some considerable degrees. It took all self-restrain she had harbored somewhere in her flimsy figure not to scream widely in absolute panic.

The footsteps were coming in her direction – right from behind her. _Be cool, it's probably just someone going home after a tiring day at work, like yourself. _Phoebe tried to calm herself down, but her breath was becoming increasingly high-pitched and her hands were shaking violently enough for the prickles of a panic-attack kick in. Her vision became slightly blurry as she searched clumsily through her purse trying to retrieve her phone as quickly as she could manage while almost convulsing in anticipation.

The footsteps came closer. And closer.

_Thump. Thump. Thump_.

The sound was heavy but muffled by the street pavement. Finally, she grabbed her cellphone, not losing a second to pick it up and dial Sawyer's number. Perhaps her father hadn't been so unreasonable after all. She was just about to press the little green-colored button when the advice fell from her hands. She was shaking too much.

_Oh God, this is it. I'm surely going to die this time, _Phoebe thought grimily. Still, almost resigned to that awful fate, she scooped down, blindly reaching for the damned and useless phone. The footsteps stopped as well, and the next thing she saw was an arm outstretching beneath her and lazily picking up her mobile.

There was no escape now – her assaulter was _here_: right next to her. Sucking a big breath of air and silently praying to a God that had never answered before, she straightened up. But instead of going for a blow or holding her at knifepoint, like she was expecting, the person simply held their hand, offering the fallen piece of technology to its rightful owner.

Nervous fingers fidgeted with the hem of her jacket, before Phoebe gained some tiny bit of courage to face the person she prematurely assumed as another rapist. When she accepted the phone and timidly glanced at the stranger's face, though, shock couldn't even describe the feeling that bloomed inside her.

Staring unblinkingly at her frightened expression, through the depths of never-ending emeralds, was the young barista from the coffee-shop she had just exited. Again his face was emotionless. If he was offended by her abnormal terror of him, he didn't show.

"T-Thank you," She muttered almost imperceptibly. Her voice was too shaken to be clear.

For some long moments – seconds, or minutes perhaps – they just stood there, awkwardly standing in silence, in the middle of the sidewalk. His eyes never left her, and Phoebe began to grow uneasy again. Thought it wasn't exactly _fear_ what she was feeling…

Finally, after what felt like a torturous eternity, he spoke. "You shouldn't walk alone this late in the night." His voice still held the same hypnotic quality as before. It was so entrancing, Phoebe couldn't help but meet his gaze and stare unashamedly at his hard features. They were rough. Manly.

But instead of answering, she simply shrugged and placed the phone in her pocket, her hand never once loosening the tight grip on it – just it case it turned out necessary. She probably _shouldn't _have been alone, but she was trying to overcome her fears. Trying to be normal. And that wasn't easy to say or explain, so she simply looked at him one last time before stammering another thanks and walking away.

She had just taken a few steps when the sound of another moving body approached her once again. This time, she glanced shyly over her shoulder. The barista walked over, until he reached her side, in the most casual of manners. One would think this was as natural to him as saluting an old friend.

His hands were hidden inside his jeans' pockets and his breath came out in the form of a ghostly vapor. He was tall. Really tall. Taller than her father and brother. His shoulders were broad and his thighs thick with obvious muscle. It taunted Phoebe that he could overpower her so easily if he decided to. It made fear sneak into her lungs.

_Why was he walking next to her? _

Men, strange men, within physical distance of her still made her nervous. She hadn't overcome that particular fear yet. And this time was no different; his close presence was unnerving her. It was making hard for her bodily functions to perform their tasks rightfully.

As if sensing her discomfort, he spoke again. "I really don't think you should walk alone. I'll take you home. Just to make sure nothing happens."

Phoebe didn't speak. She couldn't. Firstly because his reason threw her off balance – why did he care? Secondly, because every time she heard his voice, it worked like some kind of spell, and she simply couldn't think properly afterwards.

Still, that didn't make her feel that much safe. It wasn't him in particular that was provoking such reaction in her. It was the _idea_ of being next to an unknown man that scrambled her brain. She wanted to be brave, she really did, but she knew there was still a long way to go.

He noticed her unease again and stopped dead on his tracks. She should have kept going. Phoebe knew that. She knew it was the most logical thing to do, yet for some unexplainable reason, she froze on the spot as well and warily turned her head around, looking for _him_.

"Look," He began, finally showing some kind of emotion. There was apprehension laced in his tone and his eyes were narrowed, wary. "If you prefer I can just stand behind you. I just truly believe a girl, especially one who's obviously terrified, shouldn't walk around these streets this late in the night. It doesn't hurt to make sure you get home in one piece."

All kind of thoughts invaded Phoebe mind after those words. If only she had had a _knight_ like this back when she was fourteen and innocently walking home, then perhaps her life wouldn't be the mess it was today. But she quickly shoved those ideas away – it wasn't healthy to dwell on hypothetically outcomes that could never unfold, the past can't be undone, she could almost hear Flynn's voice warn her sternly.

Perhaps not everyone on this earth was bound on hurting her.

"N-no," She croaked hoarsely. "Not behind…" She couldn't stand the notion of being followed home – no matter _who_ followed her. It tugged on her nerves.

He simply nodded, almost imperceptibly, and hastened his pace to match hers. He even gave her more space, subtly walking farther to the side, away from Phoebe's nervous body.

Gradually, she started to accept that everything was okay. Though she was still very much wary, her heart was assuming a normal rhythm. She even dared stealing a few sneaky glances at her companion. Every time she did it, though, the air got stuck on her throat. Even sideways he was handsome. His posture was still stoic, still guarded. Everything about him reminded Phoebe of a Romanesque statue – a piece of perfectly sculpted art.

It didn't take long for them to reach the gates of her familiar and safe haven. A shaky and relieved breath escaped her lips. She punched the security code a little too forcibly, but she couldn't help the sudden need of throwing her tired body onto her comfortable mattress and drift off towards a dreamless night of sleep. Or so she hoped.

"This is where you live?" He asked from behind her, surprise evident in his tone. He didn't dare to take a step closer, though. He was respecting her unspoken boundaries and she was thankful for that.

"Yes," Was her breathy response. His husky voice didn't utter another sound. Phoebe turned on her heels and watched him with the same mist of intrigue and awe as the first moment she laid eyes on him. "Uhn… Thank you for walking with me."

If she had been a regular girl, she would have probably asked his name – it was the least she could do to acknowledge her gratitude – but since she was too preoccupied battling her own demons to learn etiquette during adolescence, she wasn't any kind of social butterfly. Hell, she wasn't even a social _caterpillar_.

He seemed satisfied enough, though, because his head nodded slightly before he turned around and start his own path. "Take care." He threw his goodbyes onto the night, filling the air with his deep voice.

His body was gradually swallowed by the gloomy shadows as he kept walking – not once glancing back. Phoebe stood there for some long moments. She was paralyzed. What had just happened?

Could it be true that she – Phoebe the forever solitary Grey – had had a semi-normal interaction with unfamiliar human being? And a young man, of all people? _And _at night? She glanced up, half-expecting to see pigs flying freely, but there was nothing abnormal above her. Only a blue-velvety sky filled with sparkly stars.

_Is this what I'm missing?_ She asked herself, awed with the beauty of the scenery. Even the concrete, menacing buildings that surrounded the space weren't enough to diminish the especial appeal of the night.

Feeling strangely light, Phoebe took a deep breath and rushed through the gates, almost running towards the elevator and onto the foyer of her trustworthy home. She was anxious to take a nice, bubbly bath and just sleep. It was the first time, in what felt like an eternity, that she wasn't wondering if she would have nightmares or not.

Phoebe was confident on the latter.


End file.
